Awakening
by AlBhedNikki
Summary: Theresa's plea to an old loved one for help. One shot short story.


Disclaimer: I do not own Fable nor Fable II. They are owned by Lionhead studios, etc etc. These characters are not my own.

Awakening

Nightfall in the Wraithmarsh was filled with the stench of mold and decay from hundreds of years of slumber. The old town of Oakvale stood as it had, looking as though it were waiting for someone to save it. Skeletons lost in time were sunk under the murky waters and carrion picked at anything foolish enough to venture through the marsh. The dead marsh carried on with life, little that it had, as usual except for one red and white clad gypsy. Although her eyes blind she saw more than any other. The Hollow men knew her presence, but they did not attack with the blood thirsty fervor they are known for. Some ignored her, and some watched as she walked with grace towards a tomb.

A few hundred years ago this tomb would have been adorned with flowers, gifts, and candles. It would have even felt like a welcoming place, but that was no longer the case. The gypsy stopped for a moment and ran her hands over the massive steel doors holding the locked grave from any of the taint the outside world now held. What would have taken a score of men to do, the gypsy opened the doors with ease only to be greeted by a gush of cold, stale air. She stared into the tomb dark tomb with her blind eyes before entering, and immediately torches which had not been lit for decades came ablaze. They revealed beautiful marble floor and intricate engravings on the walls telling of a heroic tale. The gypsy stopped for, one such engraving caught her eye. She studied it for a moment, noting the two women on either side of it crouched down on their knees, the man bravely holding the sword in the middle, and the ominous masked man in the background who seemed to want to swallow the whole picture. She smirked at this but kept walking, she was not going to be distracted from her mission by mere pictures of the past.

Shadows lurked behind intricate statues of angels, watching the stranger intrude upon the tomb they were trusted to protect. They would never dare attack this one, lest their souls be damned. The gypsy paid them no mind though, she knew even if they tried to attack her she would have no problem deflecting their assault. They knew who she was, in fact she was the one who cast the protection spell on her beloved crypt.

What she looked for was soon revealed at the very end: a Hero's grave. The gypsy leaned over and set her hand on the top of the marble coffin. She traced the engraving of the guild seal on the top, muttering an incantation. Suddenly going quiet she backed up and watched as a small stream of silver light leaked out of the marble case, swirling and dancing its way up and over the top. The gypsy smirked as the stream formed and shaped itself into an impressive sight.

There standing now was a tall, well built warrior wearing shimmering silver plate. Although fairly large he also wore a long grey beard, and a head of short silver hair. His eyes were as blue as a summer sky, and as friendly and warming as one. This ghostly sight also wore a large glowing sword on his back: The Sword of Aeons. It shimmered with it's own mysterious glow, and although not dead it's spirit was attached to this ghostly apparition.

"Hello little brother." The gypsy said with a powerful, yet loving tone. "I apologize for having woken you up from your earthly slumber."

"Theresa... why have you come here? Why do you not join me on the other side?" The ghost said to the gypsy now known as Theresa.

Looking up at him, showing her blind eyes to his face she smiled. "There is much work to yet be done here. The Guild is dead and there are no more Heroes to defend Albion. Someone must be awake to defend it when madmen come to taint our world." She kneeled on the marble floor, and the ghostly hero followed suit by sitting on his own coffin.

"Then why do you call me? Do you need a listening ear when no one will pay attention to an old woman?" The Hero said with jest, letting a small grin slip from the side of his mouth.

Theresa waved her hand as if to brush his comment aside. "Now is not the time for jokes, little brother. As I said there are no more Heroes to defend Albion, and it seems as though wicked forces are stirring once again that threaten to enslave all."

"What do you ask of me then? I did enough fighting when I was among the living, so now let me be a peace. Albion will cease to be one day, so do not fight the fates."

"No, I do not wish to fight against what is inevitable, but the end is not so near." Theresa looked down and drew a circle on the floor with her finger. Instantly an image of two little girls materialized. The older one looked about 12, and wore a dress with her hair in small pigtails. The younger was more the tom-boy, wearing old pants and a shirt with a toy gun at her side and wooden sword on her back. "These girls are your descendants, and like you their blood has not been awaken. One of them will be a hero that will save us all."

The hero now seemed more intrigued with whatever Theresa was planning. He straightened his back as he ran a thoughtful hand through his ghostly beard. "Hmm..." Eyeing the two girls still he said with a thoughtful voice, "What would you like from me, dear sister?"

Smirking Theresa dismissed the image of the girls and looked back up at the ghostly appearance of her kin. "I would like your help, your guidance for these girls, and the future hero. Although I am strong, you are the one who once saved Albion from Jack of Blades, so who best to protect the Hero than you?"

At this flattery the dead Hero gave a hearty laugh. "And how am I supposed to help with that? I am no longer in flesh, and if what you say is true about Albion today, then I will cause quite a stir following my descendent around in towns."

With that Theresa stood and held out a hand to her brother. "Leave that part to me. I will give you a way to assist the future Hero without cause for suspicion or alarm." She watched her brother study her hand for what seemed like hours.

Finally letting out a sigh, the dead Hero nodded. "Fine then. I'll help Albion once again. Avo save us all."

With that the ghostly Hero took the gypsy's hand. With a flash of light the Hero dematerialized, and his soul once again turned into a wispy current, only this time flowing to Theresa's side. Instead of a Hero now stood a Seer, and a faithful, golden canine companion. Theresa looked down at the dog as he looked up, and stared into his gentle warming blue eyes.

"Thank you, little brother."


End file.
